


Krig & Vrede

by Psicriyes



Category: Moby Dick - Herman Melville, The King in Yellow - Robert W. Chambers, d5主播, 死びとの恋わずらい - 伊藤潤二 | Lovesick Dead - Itou Junji, 第五人格 | Identity V (Video Game)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Help, How Do I Tag, Men Crying, Multi, Multiple Crossovers, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Work In Progress, what is even going on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psicriyes/pseuds/Psicriyes
Summary: Idiots trying to write history. Takoyaki and grilled fish.
Relationships: Oldba1/Tou Yu (Identity V RPF), Oldba1/Wa Bu Guan (Identity V RPF), The Crossroads Pretty Boy/Ryuusuke
Kudos: 3





	Krig & Vrede

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:
> 
> *It's less fanfiction-fanfiction, more oc x canon since it's 2021 (let people have fun - v-).  
> (Just wanted to be clear about that, in case someone was really up for some quality Identity V fanfiction.)
> 
> *It's a big crossover, loosely based on the settings found in different fandoms (mostly Identity V), but there are some self-customized settings besides the canonical ones. Most will not be tagged (for self-explanatory reasons), they can be viewed as easter eggs - v-).
> 
> *This work is NOT meant to be RPF. Do NOT view it as RPF. All real people in the work have their internet personas, of which are in use. 不要上升正主！不要上升正主！重要的事情说三遍！不要上升正主！
> 
> *Wbg's name is Maisy in the story, don't ask...

It’s hazy outside, like during the last thaw back home.

Touching the window doesn’t run the clammy coldness through my fingers, and there is no mist or frost sprawled all over the road. There is no color, simply no color, to anything. Just an illusory vibe of winter treading the streets and a false emptiness hovering over the town. Grey houses and low condos, washing lines staggering and swaying to the lukewarm breeze, no people, only gulls yelling their lungs out at each other. The air is crusty, a tad bit burnt by the heat, mixed with the wrenching car smell. So goddamn bland. God forbid the most colorful thing I have seen so far in this place is a fire extinguisher. 

This town, Muppby, is located at the lesser green foot of a hill, about the same size and tells about the same stories as your average suburb. A lot different than what I expected. Sure, maybe it’s asking too much for modern day suburbs to be as idyllic as how my parents described their old nests. With those small-town summer festivals, mayor speeches, and weekend drive-ins playing movies from at least two cretaceous ago! Like _La Machine à Assassiner_ , or even _Moxon’s Master_. 

The car rolls over a speed hump, a few figures carrying bags and badges appear over the corner. I move over to the other window, closer to the passing view. More students are crowding the roads, filling every frame as the car progresses slowly. Distinct chatter seeps in through the car door, blurry words and sentences lead up to expressions leaving marks on the window, it’s a good view; a new start. 

"Go on, laddie," the driver says, hauling the gear shift. 

"Huh?" I look up at the rearview, his pompous fringe is sticking up. 

The car has stopped. He turns to me, the fringe oscillating perfectly to his movements. 

"Stormaktstiden Academy," he proclaims with a stretched sigh. "Place's not bad, it’s been here quite a while. All the way back since god knows when. Everyone who comes outta there says it’s good stuff. You don't need to be all tense." 

"Okay... I guess? I’m not really tense." 

I don't know how to react to his pity. The smug smile on his face is assuring in a way. 

"My name is... A-Wang. Since we've made each other's acquaintances, you can call me ol'Wang." 

He blows away the large chunk of hair, bringing the morning back to his left eye. I reach for the door handle when I hear the click.

“Why are you telling me your name anyway?” I ask as I climb out the vehicle, waddling to the open trunk with my backpack hooked onto my index and middle finger. “It’s not like we’ll meet again.” 

“Wow, good to hear that you don’t have any complaints. And no, it’s very, _very_ possible we’ll meet again,” Wang says, drawling at the end, then curling his fingers to a gun and points it at me. “It _is_ a small town after all, people are ambitious here, not many cabbies’ round. The ones around aren’t as nice as me, they steer the wheel while jabbin’ you in the ribs."

He hauls my baggage out from the trunk, and I notice the embroidery on his uniform: a golden dot, several strands are stretching outwards from it. A vortex. Looks familiar, it must be something I saw on those creepy, half-cultist discussion forums about ancient whale dicks. Was it called Intersection Tea Party? No, maybe it was Moriarty’s Web. I should check later.

“Sure, you’re certainly… _eccentric._ By the way, ‘laddie’ is used for boys,” I say, sneaking another look at the symbol. "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Wang. I, uh, hope we meet again."

Wang looks at me, his expression is suddenly unreadable. His lips curl into a smile that overrides all other impressions I've had about him, it's bad; the faltering sun is completely eclipsed by the momentum of his countenance, right now, right here.

Why, how, and what the fuck? I feel like my hair was yanked.

"Really? I thought it was used for brats in general! Welp, but you're welcome. You are the one paying me, but still, _you're welcome_. You know, I think you'll really enjoy your stay at Stormaktstiden," he doesn't look at me any longer, a lighthearted laughter is shoved at me, like the swig of cold air I just took was an illusion or mistaken belief. "I know a few guys from the school... They are some good people."

Neither can I guess what confidences he is trying to keep. He did whatever he did on purpose. There is something, I'm sure.

Shaking off his face, Stormaktstiden’s solemn grandeur, albeit only half of it, is delivered once I cross the dark fenced gate. It’s an H-shaped building tiled in red, less Corinthian, mainly a discreet blend between Ionic and Doric, with acanthus thickets crawling all over the gate framework. Tiny, sloppy plantations drape along the walls, confining the school to a symmetrical and upright posture. The dull cloth screaming _Welcome Newbies!_ in bright red sprawled over the facade seems horribly misplaced. Wang was right, school’s not half bad, at least the outlook is definitely something. There should be a gym and dormitory somewhere too, most likely behind the main building. Dorms are essential to the boarding school life, after all.

A crowd is broadening in front of the notice board near the entrance, I head over swiftly, encompassed by the flow. While I push my way through the throng, I feel my foot set at the wrong place, I fall—— 

right into someone’s shoulder. 

“What the-” 

A boy my age is staring at me, mouth agape. Brown hair scattered across his round face, it’s not exactly impeccably trimmed, a few strands are sticking out from the tousled mess. Looking at it makes me want to pet them down. 

“Sorry… I wasn’t paying attention. Are you okay?” I ask, trying to piece together a somewhat presentable face.

“Jesus, you really scared me. Yeah, sure, I’m fine. Uh, are _you_ okay?” he replies reluctantly, clearly shaken.

I nod. A girl peeks over the boy’s shoulder. Long black hair, dark eyes, getting some spiky vibes… 

“Hello? Is that… is that from Kagami’s concert in Obristan?” she bursts into a bouncy mess, pointing at the little avatar dangling from my bag. “Oh my god, were you in Lorndaz or Mergerous? I was sick, _sick!_ Like bruh, how does one get fucking sick when Kagami is on tour?”

Maybe not so spiky, still a bit reserved, despite the energy burst. 

“Wait, you know Kagami as well?” I say, feeling the confused gaze from the boy prodding at me, and a family-like mutuality slowly emerging between me and this girl. There is nothing to say, love for Kagami is universal. Friendship ended with myself, this girl is my new best friend.

“Fuck yeah! Kagami is so hot’ bro, his voice is exactly my type and man, he just got this, soft but _daddy_ vibe. I would like, trust him to handle my last class who were all jacked up on steroids, and he will nail it, no problem.” 

“I know right? You know when he went to that dog park in Skal? I had like 60 screenshots from the livestream, the way he squeezed that cloud doggo… I think my heart really, REALLY exploded.” 

“Sorry to interrupt the simping, but uh… the opening ceremony or whatever, is starting in 5 minutes…” the boy says, looking somewhat uneasy. “It’s gonna be troublesome, if we like, missed it.” 

The girl looks at him, shaking her head.

“Miguel, it doesn’t start before 10—”

A shrill speaker-veiled voice sounds right above us: “Attention, students. The Principal’s Welcome Ceremony will begin in five minutes, please proceed to the assembly hall. Your seniors will assist you.” 

Miguel croaks, “F-i-v-e minutes, Kaaaatie.”

“Bruh,” Katie rolls her eyes, then turns back to me, eyeing my bags. “You are _def_ a first year, what’s your name? We might be in the same class!” 

“Louka,” I answer. “Louka Budvytis.”

Katie pushes through the last few at the board, as they scatter, I can see a huge list. Mumbling my name, she eyes down the list to L.

“Hey, we are in the same class! See, _Louka_ , right here, right above Miguel, Class 1:A.”

“Hell yeah!” I exclaim soundly. “We get to be classmates!” 

It’s going well. I thought I would have to spend a few weeks having awkward boundary talks with roommates I don’t, and never will, have any chemistry with. I’m not particularly good or bad at making friends, I’ve had a few back at the school in Enkyo. We weren’t super close. They were my friends, and just my friends, because I didn’t make enough effort for them to close the gap of courtesy between us. Yeah, okay, it’s mainly me. What can I say? Vibing at the roller rink and gossiping are fun things, but not always as fun as reading manga while munching on snacks, lying next to the windowsill— _with AC on_ . I don’t know. I mean, I _did_ , and still _do_ get lonely. 

Katie and Miguel… Why not? They seem nice enough. Maybe things will be different now.

A pair of twins greet us at the door to the hall. Chestnut curls outblooming the azure, delicately sewn and badged uniform. The one stepping towards us is wearing a cheery smile, her skin is beautiful, only a few shades lighter than her hair, contrasted wonderfully by the uniform’s color. 

“Hello, I’m Laure, and this is Julie! We are from class 2:B. What classes have you been assigned to? We will show you to your seats!” Laure says, permeating us in her bubbly optimism. “Awh, why do you all look so worked up? It’s okay… Just relax, my baby baguettes!”

Did she seriously call us her baguettes?

  
“Also, here,” she hands us envelopes. “Don’t worry, it’s just some forms for you to fill in, these make up the basis of our information pool. Put it in the box right behind this old Jubeez when you come out!”

“I _swear_ you guys will laugh your butts off when you see our principal later!” Julie coos excitedly from behind Laure. “Ah, everytime I see him, I get abs from trying to hold in my laughter— You have to agree, L. His teeth…” 

“Jeez, Ju, are you three?”

I’m just as baffled as Katie and Miguel. Katie has taken some steps back, pretending like there is something noteworthy about the corridor, while Miguel remains where he is, sweating nervously. 

In the hall, most students are already seated. It smells rich, the school is not any rich deal, _but it smells rich, like charred black wood_. Must be the marble statues condemned to the beams, the pious-looking red oak benches being martyred to our butts, and the uniform unity roofed by a wooden arabesque of tendrils. 

About a good five minutes later, Julie and Laure walk past us, retreating all the way to the first row, closest to the podium. A teacher pops up next to Miguel, two seats away from me. She looks rather nervous in his presence, on the other hand, Katie is gesticulating weirdly, trying to forward her thoughts to me through her fingers now that the teacher is here. After yet another five minutes, who I assume is the principal, finally arrives, working his way up the stairs in a (fairly tepid) sea of applause. Red hair, glasses occupying two thirds of his face, wearing a bright red tie and a flaky striped shirt. He clears his throat in an exaggerated manner, _or he just has that much spittle in his trachea,_ then opens his mouth. 

Yeah, okay. It’s just buck teeth. Just buck teeth… yet, a small snorting noise slips in between someone’s teeth. The principal doesn’t pay any mind to it, he begins his speech.

“It is my pleasure to welcome you to Stormaktstiden Academy. I am Freddy Riley, your principal...”

Courtesy has always been bothersome. I look over to Miguel, he is already dozing off, eyelids struggling to stay open under greasy, unholy hours of sleep-deprivation and probably video games. Katie is staring intensely into the principal’s face, most definitely his teeth, I can’t help but sigh. Though, it’s a bit funny. 

“... With a determination to succeed, students at Stormaktstiden are to adapt our customized curriculums. As our tailored exams, 1 and 2, have proven that you all _excel_ at basic education. Instead of continuing to develop your basic levels, our curriculums will assist you in specializing your talents, which includes an increased range of subject and program options and schedule flexibility…”

Age doesn’t matter in Stormaktstiden, it’s your capabilities. I’ve had exactly this afterthought, when I finished reading the note dad left next to the admission letter. Their website never specified age or course level. Guess I had the right intuition. I will be fifteen next year, normally, I should be stalled two more years at my middle school. This is interesting, I mean, it’s a huge ego boost, I suppose? 

_Although I have no idea what exams he is referring to._

“... Welcome to Stormaktstiden. Thank you.”

Miguel is sound asleep, despite the cacophony after Riley lowered the mic. 

“What exams is he talking about?” I whisper to Katie, who looks at me skeptically for some reason.

“What?” she frowns, as if I asked something ridiculous, then turns hastily over to Miguel. 

“Exam 1 and 2, what are they?” I ask, a bit louder. "I never did an exam.!

Now she looks conflicted, genuinely conflicted, by my confusion. Her faces tells me that I'm a real fool. Before I can slip her another question, Riley picks up the mic again.

“I will hand over to the dedicated members of our student council, who are in charge of all extracurricular events, here, Maria.”

Five shadows rise from the first row, neatly making their way up to the stage. The president places herself comfortably at the podium, while the rest are seated behind her. 

“Hi, I’m Maria, the president! SC is directly responsible for everything besides your normal lessons, like student funds, homework help, overseas exchange programs and all that stuff,” she says hectically, partially unwilling. “We are also responsible for the dorms, so please don’t make a mess! These idio— people sitting behind me are the members of SC! This is Eszter, our secretary, who will tell you about the clubs and activities you can take part in, here, Es, tell’ em.” 

The mic is forcefully shoved into the secretary’s hands. Right, the clubs. I saw an occult club before, it was on the pamphlet that came with the letter. I bow down to fish it up from my bag. 

“Thank you, Maria… Yes, hi! If you wish to apply for clubs, you can look up the club leaders and speak to them, or submit your application to us and we will forward it to the club leaders. There is a Stormaktstiden almanac hanging outside the conference room in 2F, west wing. If you wish to start a club of your own, you’ll need at least three participants, come to our room and we will verify you…” 

I look up.

Almost gasping out loud. 

A huge shadow sweeps past the secretary. It’s tall, moving to an otherworldly melody. Twirling, wavering, steadily and nimbly lurching back and forth. There is a slim resemblance to ballet, but it’s ritualistic, inapprehensible, choreographed by an outsider god. It continues to swirl, and nobody seems to notice the towering physique in the room. 

“... We look forward to having you!” the secretary says. 

It has a face, I can see it, its side profile. Black hair, oval face running down to a sharp chin, bleak, midwinter skin, lips screaming red. 

I can see it.

It can see me. 

Two empty canvases are staring at me, a sneer slits up its face, it jumps off the stage, making its way towards me. 

“Hey girl, can you see me?”


End file.
